


Things not sought, but nonetheless found

by Azzandra



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, F/M, Fluff and Mush, Friends to Lovers, Gentle Romance, POV Alternating, Slow Burn, kink meme fill, not an exact re-tread of canon Solasmance, or at least I try to put my own spin on it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-21 14:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3695975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azzandra/pseuds/Azzandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for a kink meme prompt: Solas/Trevelyan gentle romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Friend

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt I filled was actually a repost of an older one. The original was [here](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/12606.html?thread=49802046#t49802046), and the repost is [here](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/13696.html?thread=53212544#t53212544) (where you can also find this fic currently being filled).
> 
> The gist of the prompts was this: 
> 
>  
> 
> _A lot of the few Solas/Trevelyan fics I've read have a very dubcony, angsty feel to them. And that's great! I love that! I'm actually in the process of writing one right now. (...)_  
>  So, anons, I beg you: please write me a romance between Solas and Trevelyan that is just as heartfelt and sweet as his romance with Lavellan. My tender heart can only take so much.
> 
>  
> 
> and
> 
>  
> 
> _Not original OP, but basically the prompt was asking for some gentle romance between Solas and F!Trevelyan. So basically a building relationship between Solas and Trevelyan_
> 
>  
> 
> Now, strictly speaking, did I _need_ to write another Solas/Trevelyan fic? No. But I really, really wanted to.

The first time it occurred to Solas that he might actually like Evelyn Trevelyan as a person, it was in the Hinterlands.  
  
He found her just outside of camp, fiddling with the astrarium the Inquisition troops had pointed out to her just the other day, and he stopped a way's off, listening to the heavy grind of stone as she made it turn. Her face was nothing but concentration as she peered into it. She showed no sign of noticing his approach, or indeed anything else of her surroundings, and though it should have struck Solas as foolish to be so careless when the Hinterlands were still dangerous, it was fascinating to see her so absorbed in her task. He would have thought far less of her if she were incurious, instead of incautious.  
  
"Aha," she said at one point, a sound of quiet victory, the familiar satisfaction at solving a puzzle.  
  
"Something interesting?" he asked.  
  
She looked up at him, surprised, before her face split in a grin.  
  
"Solas, come here," she said, with an excited beckoning gesture.  
  
He obliged and stepped closer. She hooked her arm with his, and pulled him up next to her. Before he could protest, or even balk at being manhandled, she pointed to the astrarium.  
  
"Shifting the sphere makes connections between the stars, but a line can't go through the same place twice. Look,  _look_!"  
  
Then, in a fit of zeal, she demonstrated. She rotated the sphere with great confidence, and as he watched, the shape of a constellation was etched out before his eyes. When the final line fell in place, the astrarium lit up, its magic awakened. A beam burst from it, cutting across the sky before them.  
  
"Is that what it does?" Evelyn whispered, clearly not expecting this outcome.  
  
"It seems to be pointing to a location," Solas said.  
  
"Is it?" Evelyn scrambled for the map she kept in a pouch at her belt, and then fumbled through the other pockets for a stick of charcoal. "Where was it pointing, did you see?"  
  
She unfolded the map, and they put their heads close together, trying to figure out where the beam might have ended. Fingers traced hills and valleys over the map, finding their own location first, and then a straight line clean across the paper. Evelyn marked down their best guess for an approximate location, and then she remained staring at the map, absent-mindedly tapping the charcoal stick against her lips.  
  
"What do you think?" she asked after a while, and then grinned at him with a twinkle in her eye. "Treasure hunt?"  
  
"If you can justify allocating the time and resources," he replied neutrally.  
  
"If we actually find treasure, it'll pay for itself, won't it?" she said.  
  
"And if we don't?" He raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Then it's an  _educational_  experience," she said, playfully solemn, and she punctuated the remark by jabbing the air with the charcoal. "Even if all we learn is to not trust shady artifacts littering the landscape. Are you in?"  
  
The charcoal left dark smudges on her lower lip and chin. He laughed softly, endeared by her enthusiasm, and found himself having to suppress the urge to wipe away the smudges himself.  
  
"After you clean your face, certainly," he said.  
  
She blinked in confusion at first, before she understood his words. She rubbed the back of her wrist against her chin, flustered, but she also laughed, her eyes locked on his, sharing her mirth freely, even if it was at her own expense.   
  
He liked her, Solas realized. It was a complication he did not desire, but he did.

* * *

She offered her trust easily. It was in the way she accepted his presence at her back without a single backwards glance, the way she guarded his own, the way she offered him her hand for study, not a flinch or a sign of hesitation even as his power flickered between them in her palm.  
  
It was in the way she always passed him the first lyrium bottle after a hard battle, swishing the liquid just to see it climb the walls of the vial before placing it in his hand. He accepted the lyrium, still sore, still splattered with blood, but feeling fortified once he drank it and his mana was replenished.  
  
The Templar camp they'd just vacated had supplies which could be useful to the fledgling Inquisition. Varric and Cassandra were already tearing through chests, scrounging for anything useful, and after downing a health potion, Evelyn flipped the lid off a crate as well, and inspected its contents.  
  
"You don't drink lyrium," Solas remarked.  
  
Evelyn shrugged, not looking away from the crate.  
  
"I do, sometimes," she replied. "I just don't much like it." She was silent for a few moments more, poking through the contents of the crate without much enthusiasm. "Two of my brothers are Templars," she added quietly, as if it explained everything. Perhaps it did.  
  
Solas wasn't sure what to say in response. Condolences seemed both appropriate and unnecessarily morbid.  
  
" _I_  might have been a Templar," she continued, and dug out a coin purse from the crate, rattling it to hear the tell-tale clink. "I have four older siblings. My parents had the heir and the spare, and the rest of us were... Well, traditionally the extraneous Trevelyan children end up with the Templars or in the Chantry." She grinned. "I have a dozen cousins in the Chantry. If not a Templar, I likely would have ended up taking vows instead."  
  
Her amusement at the notion seemed genuine, and this, at least, Solas could grasp more easily. Life's unexpected turns could lead to complex ironies. It was better that she could laugh rather than let such things turn her bitter.  
  
"Revered Mother Evelyn," he said ponderously.  
  
"Give me a bit more credit," Evelyn scoffed. "I think I could have made Grand Cleric, at least."  
  
Solas smiled, but despite her joking...  
  
"Do you regret being sent to the Circle?" he asked.  
  
For a second, he wondered if the question crossed a line. Evelyn's hands gripped the edge of the crate.  
  
"It's not like that," she said. "It just wouldn't have been fair otherwise. Like I said, my brothers are Templars. Plenty of people in my extended family are. How hypocritical would it have been to hide me from the Circle while half the Trevelyan clan worked to take children away from their families?"  
  
"No children at all should have to be taken from their families," Solas said.  
  
"No," she agreed softly. "But the point still stood back then." She turned her eyes on him. "And what about you, Solas?"  
  
He regarded her calmly.  
  
"What about me?" he asked.  
  
"What about your family?" she said. "I assume you have a family. You didn't just spring fully formed from the Void, did you?"  
  
"Not fully formed, no," he replied.  
  
She snorted a laugh, her nose scrunching, but she let it go. She released him from questions easily, mindful of his privacy in a way she never was of her own, and they settled into comfortable silence.

* * *

Haven celebrated, and Solas packed.  
  
The Breach sealed, there seemed no point to lingering anymore. Things seemed well in hand for now, and if they still had room to go badly, he did not wish to be around to witness it and be delayed even more from his mission.  
  
He looked over his temporary dwellings one more time, making sure he did not forget anything, and then closed the door a final time. No one would notice him slip out of the village and disappear into the night, another apostate, another anonymous elf in the world. He might have made it all the way out of the village without anyone being the wiser, but for Evelyn lingering near the gate, and spotting him.  
  
She took in his backpack and guarded expression, and he could see in the brief flash of disappointment she tried to hide that she knew what he was doing. He dreaded she might try to talk him out of it and try to make him stay. He wouldn't, but it would make things unnecessarily difficult for the both of them. Instead she smiled at him.  
  
"What, too much visibility during the day? The roads not dangerous enough for your liking?" she asked. "You couldn't wait until morning?"  
  
"Elves have excellent vision in the dark," he replied, and matched her smile. "And bandits do generally sleep at night."  
  
"An embarrassing oversight on their part, I'm sure," she laughed. "Missing out on all those destitute traveling apostates they could be robbing."  
  
They regarded each other, dragging out what might have been the last moment of camaraderie they'd ever share. And then she broke it off, and looked over to the burning bonfire, and the revelers around it.  
  
"If you told me you were leaving, I would have had Threnn set aside supplies for you," she said.  
  
"I have everything I need, but I appreciate the thought."  
  
She made a non-committal sound, and looked back at him with a devious grin.  
  
"Just one more thing for the road," she said, and moving so quickly he had no time to react, she kissed his cheek. He blinked at her as she pulled back, feeling his face heat up.  
  
He could have returned the kiss. He could have caught her in his arms and hugged her tightly against his body, buried his face in her hair and held her against him until her body heat sank into his flesh and he memorized her scent. In a distant flicker of thought, gone as quickly as they formed, the possibilities did occur to him. But they were just that, fanciful imaginings, things he felt he had no right to do, acts which would only make the separation more painful in the long run.  
  
So instead he gave her a respectful nod, and said goodbye.  
  
She nodded to him as well, smiling even as she looked regretful, and did him the small mercy of walking away first.  
  
He could have left Haven with an easier heart, the way she released him so kindly, but he never got the opportunity before Corypheus attacked.


	2. A Kiss

In the first weeks following their arrival at Skyhold, Solas saw only glimpses of Evelyn, harried as she was by new tasks and responsibilities. There were dead to deal with, walls to shore up, the roster of workers to reshuffle to make up for the missing or dead. There were new recruits pouring in every day, and refugees as well.  
  
To her credit, she did not let herself be swallowed up by the work. People looked to her for leadership, but once everything was set up and in motion, she trusted them to know what to do.  
  
As for himself, Solas found his place easily, slipping beneath everyone's notice. He requisitioned a desk and had it placed in the rotunda, and nobody questioned this. He strode up confidently to the quartermaster and managed to procure paint without any trouble, and a word to Master Gatsi was enough to have a scaffolding set up where he desired.  
  
Everyone was so busy that it must have taken at least a few days before anyone noticed he was painting the wall of the rotunda. Master Gatsi came and inspected his work with open admiration, asking innumerable questions. Whenever throngs of people passed through on some task or another, at least a few would stop and stare at his work.  
  
He did not mind the scrutiny. The entire point of the fresco was to be looked upon. The work was soothing, and the images taking shape under his brush seemed to have been waiting to form since the day he met Evelyn. With everything he witnessed of her, they took clearer shape in his mind. Books could burn. Stories could be bastardized beyond all recognition. But this monument to her acts could endure for millennia, keeping the truth of her alive through the passage of time.  
  
His brush only faltered once, when he felt her presence, her magic-- _his_  magic--like a pillar of fire behind him. She said nothing, only watched, and when he turned around, she was staring up at the half-finished image of Corypheus, her expression unusually serious.  
  
"Inquisitor?" Solas said softly, and her gaze flickered down to him. The title hung between them, formality to substitute for the distance he should have been keeping. Not physical distance, but the steps between them seemed to yawn like miles nonetheless.  
  
"You're very talented," she said with a smile, and it felt like a change of subject even though it was the first thing she'd said to him in a week.  
  
"It is merely the result of study and perseverance," he replied.  
  
"It's beautiful," she said, her voice so faint the words were almost lost in the clamor of the library above. "I don't know how to thank you for this."  
  
"Thanks are not necessary," he replied. "You do much for all of us already."  
  
The mood between them was beginning to feel strange--remnants of Haven, the knowledge that he was going to leave and then didn't. He did not know how to impress upon her that he was where he wanted to be for the moment, without giving her false hope that he would stay forever. He turned back to the wall, searching for the spot he left off so he could resume his work.   
  
He heard her steps as she approached, and quietly waited to see what she would do. She stopped next to him.  
  
"Solas," she began, and he looked at her. Her face split into a grin, and she bumped her shoulder into his. "Fancy an outing? I'm told the Storm Coast is looking  _particularly_  scenic this time of year."  
  
"Is that so?" he asked lightly. Her grin was infectious.  
  
"Oh, yes," she replied. "All those Red Templars knocking about. They really liven the place up. Do wonders for the ambient lighting, too."  
  
He bit back a laugh, and produced a snort instead. She looked much too pleased with herself.  
  
"Very well," he agreed. "Far be it from me to miss out on all the wondrous local attractions the Storm Coast can offer."  
  
And just like that, the awkwardness vanished. They were back to what they'd been before, whatever that was.

* * *

The dreams of Skyhold were old. Solas could taste the lingering magic which had once thrummed throughout Thedas. He did not expect any surprises in the Fade as he dreamed there, but then, perhaps he should have.   
  
Even as diminished as he was, he still had skill beyond the imagining of mortals. Yet Evelyn slipped into his dream like a whisper, unnoticed until she walked up to him, cloaked in his own magic enough to keep him from sensing her. She came the way she often did back in Haven, walking the path to his hovel with bright-eyed curiosity, asking to hear more of his journeys and his studies. It was the same, different, new, all at once. She wanted to talk, the way they hadn't had the chance since arriving to Skyhold.  
  
"You continue to surprise me," he said. "All right, let us talk. Preferably somewhere more interesting than this."  
  
So he took her to Haven. For a given value of 'more interesting', it did the job well enough, and it had been on his mind already. He could have shown her many things, but how revealing would they have been? How much would they have drawn her attention to him? Better to keep her focus elsewhere.  
  
That she did not realize she was in the Fade until the end was not so much a disappointment as another surprise. It gave him new fodder for thought, ruminating on the difference in how mortals perceived the Fade, and an interesting new line of research to keep him busy. Yet he put the matter aside, almost without noticing, and wondered how she would react once she was awake. Would it perturb her, to walk the Fade as a dreamer? Would she even mention it? Would she dismiss it as the invention of her own mind?  
  
Would she come speak with him again, as she used to do in Haven?  
  
He missed it. He was getting too old and lonely, because he well and truly missed it.  
  
When she came to him the next day, full of wonder where others might otherwise be suspicious, he felt more satisfaction in her presence than he thought possible.  
  
"--and if you wish to discuss anything, I would enjoy talking," he said, and just as the words were out, he felt just how true they were, just how nervous the thought of her saying 'no' was making him.   
  
She smiled at him just so, with a tilt of the head that often preceded some mischief on her behalf.  
  
"I think it's my turn to take you somewhere more interesting," she said.

* * *

There were places in Skyhold that lay empty and half-collapsed, still waiting for repair. If one were willing to brave them, and cautious enough not to fall to injury, they could pick through the wreckage and find interesting remnants of the previous inhabitants.  
  
Solas could not imagine what Evelyn had found in the abandoned tower she was taking him to, except that it must have been worth the trouble. There was a large hole in the floor, with only a plank of wood providing passage. The way she strode across it with the utmost confidence indicated she had done so quite a few times already.  
  
Still, he gave the paltry bridge a long and careful look, as he did the dark chasm framing it. It was inspiring thoughts of how frail mortal bodies really were.  
  
"It's fine, it'll hold," Evelyn said, already across. She raised her hand and offered it to him. "I'll catch you if you fall."  
  
"So we can  _both_  topple to our deaths," Solas replied, wrinkling his nose.  
  
But he stepped onto the plank of wood, carefully feeling it out with his feet, and it was remarkably steady. Evelyn held out her hand until he was half-across and he caught it, and then she smiled at him, her grip tight and reassuring.  
  
"There, see?" she said as he hurried the last few steps. "Not so bad."  
  
She did not release his hand once he was on solid flooring once more, but he didn't have time to think on this before she twisted on her heel and pulled him through a half-open door.  
  
"Here it is," she said, voice hushed and excited, and took him to a wall on the far side of the room.  
  
There was a mural there, painted on wood, weathered and peeling away on the edges. The decrepit bed in a corner indicated this might have been someone's bedroom, and so its purpose would have been for personal enjoyment, but there was still an unexpected beauty to it. A stylized sky filled one half of the wall, yellow stars laid out in parallel bands, taking unexpected angles at the edges, sharing space with rolling orange and red hills, filled with quaint pastoral elements: peasants with their livestock, a village, a castle looming over it, a forest at the far edge.  
  
"It seems you're not the only one in Skyhold who ever had this idea," Evelyn grinned.  
  
It seemed not. Solas wondered what he would see if he dreamed in this room. The painter at work? The former occupant of the room admiring the walls? Spirits playing out scenes out of lives long since extinguished? Small mysteries to keep him occupied at night, perhaps even unexpected new knowledge to tease out of the Fade. It was such a small, precious gift she'd given him, better than any shiny bauble.  
  
His heart swelled with unexpected affection.  
  
"Thank you," he breathed. "For showing me this."  
  
"Of course," she said, sweetly, like she meant to add  _anything for you_.  
  
He felt her shift next to him and turned his head just as she leaned up to kiss his cheek. With the motion, her lips slid from his cheek to the corner of his mouth, just a tickle of sensation, skin barely brushing over skin. She made a tiny, startled gasp, one he felt more than heard, and before she could pull away, he caught her chin and pressed his mouth against hers in a proper kiss.  
  
It was ill-considered, impetuous, his tender feelings overwhelming his common sense in the moment. But her lips were soft, and filled with a warmth he hadn't experienced in too long a time, and kissing her was like a long drink of water after a day in the desert, quenching and awakening all at once.  
  
It was terrifying and irresistible, like the knowledge that he was falling in love with her.


	3. A Dance

With Halamshiral looming ever closer, it was unavoidable that the more political-minded members of the Inquisition started taking an active interest in not allowing any opportunity for embarrassment. Meaning that at Josephine's insistence, and Madame de Fer's coldly arched eyebrow, dancing lessons were to be had.  
  
They took place in the largest empty room available in Skyhold. Part of the roof was still missing, thus leaving it disused for the moment, but the floor was intact, and once cleared of debris, adequate for the task.   
  
So far, Vivienne's heroic efforts to educate the Inquisitor's inner circle on the proper dances and etiquette of the Orlesian court proved a moderate success--which was still more than anyone would have expected, even with the aid of the dancing instructor she'd brought in for the job. Iron Bull was adequately cowed by Vivienne and willing to make an effort to learn, and Blackwall proved to be a passable dancer, but even the more recalcitrant of their numbers managed to fall in line. Sera and Cassandra were not glad to be there, and Varric did nothing to rein in his sarcasm, but they were at least learning, even if against their will.  
  
Evelyn herself was at least not at a complete loss. She'd had lessons as a child, before being sent to the Circle, and though she'd been nothing but clumsy and uncoordinated at the time, adulthood and perhaps a couple of years of intense combat practice had endowed her with much more grace than she remembered possessing at the time. Vivienne even complimented her on her good sense of rhythm.  
  
Dorian had had similar tutelage, though much more thorough than hers, and was admirably light on his feet. Together they managed to get the hang of all the steps they were shown, and discovered they made quite good dancing partners.  
  
It was too bad, then, that he kept making faces when Vivienne could not see him, because Evelyn was induced to laughter, and Vivienne could definitely hear her from where she was giving instructions to Bull. She threw disapproving glances at Evelyn over Dorian's shoulder.  
  
"Dorian, this is serious," Evelyn whispered, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.  
  
"Is it?" Dorian asked, affecting surprise at the news as he twirled Evelyn.  
  
"If we step on each other's toes and get shunned by the Orlesian court, it'll make Josie get that disappointed little frown. You don't want Josie to get the frown, do you, Dorian?"  
  
"Damn," he sighed. "You found my one weakness; adorable Antivans. Very well. I will be as serious as death from this point on."  
  
"Oh, a  _bit_  more lively than that."  
  
"My dear, I assure you, death can be quite the lively occasion in Tevinter, depending on who is on the receiving end."  
  
"That would be us, if Madame Vivienne finds us gabbing instead of practicing."  
  
"There's no need to be dramatic, dear," Vivienne's voice came from just over Evelyn's shoulder, making her flinch. "But if you two are quite done, I would appreciate you clearing the dance floor so that I may devote more attention to those who need it."  
  
"Yes, Madame Vivienne," Evelyn muttered, properly chastened.  
  
"Marvelous," Dorian said, rubbing his hands together, "now I still have time to do something worthwhile today. Care to get drunk out of our mind, Inquisitor?"  
  
She did not, but they left the room together, going the same way. 

In the hallway just outside the room, they crossed paths with Solas, only just arriving.   
  
Evelyn had noticed his absence, of course. He and Cole were the only ones missing from the lessons so far, and on the matter of Cole, Evelyn had pointed out to Vivienne that if he made a misstep, he'd just erase it from everyone's memory anyway. Vivienne was not enthused by the notion, but considering she would have been even less glad to interact with Cole more than necessary, she let the matter stand.  
  
Solas, though... Evelyn wasn't sure whether he was avoiding her or not. He really was busy, coordinating with the Inquisition mages to work on the elven devices. And then, if he truly wanted to avoid her, he wouldn't have shown up for the lesson at all.  
  
But he seemed surprised to come face to face with her, before regaining his composure and nodding at her politely.  
  
"Inquisitor," he said.  
  
"Solas," she said in reply, and they passed each other without another word.  
  
Dorian ostensibly stayed quiet, but as they turned a corner and Solas disappeared from view, he craned his neck at Evelyn and raised an eyebrow.  
  
"There's nothing going on," Evelyn said, nervous.  
  
"Maybe if there were, you two wouldn't be so  _tense_ ," Dorian replied.  
  
Evelyn moaned and hid her face in her hands.  
  
"I don't know, it's... he said he needs to think on it. That there are considerations." She shrugged.  
  
"Considerations," Dorian scoffed. "As if we haven't noticed the lingering looks he's been sending your way."   
  
Evelyn felt her face heat at the thought--she hadn't noticed, or perhaps noticed and dismissed it as wishful thinking, but it pleased her that Solas would be so obvious.   
  
"And while he's going over his considerations," Dorian continued, "what is it that  _you_  want?"  
  
For Solas to want her. The answer was self-evident to Evelyn, but she did not speak it out loud. Perhaps she should be thinking about this as well.   
  
If it was not for lack of sentiment that Solas held back, then why?

* * *

Before any meeting in the War Room, Evelyn's mind was usually on nothing but orders and operations. She went over items: the investigation into the apostates in Ferelden should have been handled by now, and she needed to check on whether Miller had managed to escape without incriminating the Inquisition, and the matter with Lydes, and the request from King Alistair. The map of Orlais and Ferelden unfolded in her mind's eye as she tried to recall everything she wanted to check on.  
  
Her feet, meanwhile, remained in the dance lesson, and humming a waltz, she sketched a few steps as she walked towards the War Room. Josephine greeted her, a smile flickering across her face, and Evelyn gave her a dancer's bow as she swept through her office and through the door, her humming growing a bit louder.   
  
She needed to check on preparations for Halamshiral, too, and she was just going over those in her head, but as the door closed behind her and she passed into the corridor leading to the War Room, Solas stepped out from the shadows and grasped her around the waist and spun with her.  
  
She shrieked, startled and delighted, and let him lead. Dancing with Dorian had been easy and fun, light entertainment once she learned how to move. Solas was more intent, holding her tighter, moving as if motion alone was important.  
  
When they stopped, Evelyn muffled giggles against his shoulder, and he rubbed her back until she calmed down.   
  
Was this new, or would he have done it before? He had a playful streak, buried somewhere beneath all his poise and dignity. She wondered.  
  
"I didn't know you were this good a dancer, Solas," she said.  
  
"In the Fade, I have seen dances so complex, that mastering them would take the ancient Elvhen centuries," he said.   
  
"I don't think we'd have time to learn those before we left for the Winter Palace," Evelyn replied dryly.  
  
He smiled at her, sad and wistful.  
  
"No," he said, obviously distracted as he brushed knuckles over her cheek.  
  
Then he seemed to catch himself, and released Evelyn, stepping back. She caught his hand before he could leave.  
  
"Solas, about..."   
  
Her mouth went dry and her mind completely blank. Solas's expression turned guarded, but he waited for her to speak.  
  
"Is it because I'm human?" she blurted out.  
  
His eyes widened in surprise.  
  
"I mean, the reason you needed time to think," she continued babbling, "is it because I'm human? Is it... too strange? For you?"  
  
He softened just a bit.  
  
"There are those," he said, "who would judge you harshly if you took an elf as lover."  
  
"If they think that's a reason for judging anyone harshly, then they're not the kind of people whose opinions matter to me," she snapped.  
  
"True, perhaps," he inclined his head, briefly amused, "but that does not mean their opinions wouldn't affect you."  
  
"And you care about that?" Her grip on his hand tightened.  
  
"Of course I do," he said, voice lowering. "But as long as you were aware of the risks, it wouldn't be enough to keep me from you."  
  
"And what about you? Aren't you worried for yourself?" she asked.  
  
He chuckled, the sound low and warm between them, and leaning close, he kissed her forehead.  
  
"I appreciate it enough that  _you_  worry for me," he said.  
  
After that, he slipped through the door into Josephine's office, leaving Evelyn alone in the corridor, and with a melody still resounding in her head. All thoughts of the War Room meeting scattered from her head.

* * *

Halamshiral was, by turns, brutal and exhausting and complicated. By the end of the night, the gild and sparkle of the Winter Palace burned into Evelyn's retinas, making dark spots dance through her vision as she leaned heavily against he balcony banister, staring off into the distance.  
  
But after it all was the weight of Solas's hand on her back, grounding her, and the steady sway of a dance, making her feel as if she was floating despite the soreness in her feet.   
  
She wondered if he would kiss her again, and then decided she would hold this memory dear even if he didn't. She could swallow the awkwardness and never speak of it again if he did not share her feelings. Whatever this was, whatever they had, it was precious all on its own.


	4. Love

For a while, they continued to be stuck somewhere between  _maybe_  and  _perhaps_ , a strange balancing act, but not an entirely unpleasant experience.  
  
There were moments together, in Skyhold or out on the road, tiny gestures they shared which seemed laden with meaning. A lingering touch when handing a book, fingers brushing almost thoughtlessly against each other, wordlessly sitting together at the campfire, shoulder to shoulder as they shared warmth. And there were also the looks Solas would give her--as if he was attempting to peer into her soul, searching for something.  
  
She looked back, face open, not certain what he was seeking and not sure how she'd help him find it, but she did not say anything to him about it. These were his  _considerations_ , she knew, and she could not force him into a decision.  
  
Instead she wandered the library late at night, after he was already gone to sleep, after everyone was gone. She passed through the shelves of reference material, getting more complete every day, and she frowned at the titles which did not reveal to her what she wanted. Once in a while she would take a book, flip through it in blind hope, and place it back.  
  
When she eventually found what she wanted, she stood in place, head bent over the pages, frowning as her lips formed words in a foreign rhythm.  
  
_Ar lath ma, ar lath ma_ , softly to herself, a whisper lost to the flutter of wings above. Then she looked around, embarrassed, wanting to make sure she was still alone, and she placed the book back on the shelf, after memorizing the title and page.  
  
Sometimes she would wake up in the middle of the night, and with a breath that barely stirred the air, she would whisper  _ar lath ma_ again. And other times, when kept up by other worries, by other impossible tangles that she as Inquisitor was required to solve, she would walk to the library, and take out the book again, and trace the words on the page like they were a talisman.

* * *

It was hard to be discreet about something which wasn't quite a relationship yet, and so it did not go unnoticed.  
  
Evelyn could not say which was worse. Vivienne's delicate reminders of political consequences hid just the slightest concern for her personal well-being, more than just the Inquisition's, and so Evelyn could not resent her. Iron Bull's eyebrow waggles were somewhat less easy to ignore, and even Blackwall's clumsy well-wishes, delivered once when he was just slightly drunk, were a bit more disconcerting.  
  
Perhaps not as disconcerting as Sera's nigh-incoherent, laughing rant about Solas ("lookit him! His royal elfy-elf, all high and mighty until he falls face-first into the first cushy human bosom!"). Fortunately, after that, Sera broke out into paroxysms of laughter that almost had her fall off the roof, and considering the looks they were getting from down below, Evelyn couldn't say she wasn't tempted, for a fraction of a second, to let Sera fall. Only a little, though, and only if she could be aimed at the wagon full of hay below, but in the end, she held the hysterical elf and prevented her from rolling over the edge.  
  
Others were more subtle, or at least less loud about their observations. Dorian knew the details of what was going on--or rather,  _not_ going on--and Cole was generally unconcerned with romantic entanglements except insofar as they pertained to helping people.  
  
It was unclear to Evelyn for a while if Cassandra knew anything, as she made no comment, but then...  
  
They were in the Hinterlands again one day, closing a rift, Evelyn, Solas, Varric and Cassandra, together as they were in the early days.  
  
The rift was far above the ground, requiring Evelyn to climb on a nearby cliff and stand at the very edge, hand extended and only just reaching far enough. She felt herself tug on the rift, turning the Veil inside out and closing it. She felt the whine of it closing, almost, almost.  
  
And then she felt herself slowly pitching forward, feet slipping over rock. It was a race; could she close it before she fell? The cliff was not tall enough to injure her severely, but if she stopped she would have to scramble back up and start over, time in which her companions would continue to fight. Could she afford the delay? Was the fight going their way? She didn't have time to spare a look and check.  
  
In the second it took her to have all these thoughts, her concentration began to flag, the cord of light connecting her hand to the rift oscillating wildly. And then she felt an arm around her waist, her back pulled against a solid chest, her footing recovering.  
  
With renewed purpose, she tugged hard at the rift, and the recoil sent both her and her savior stumbling back a step. The demons were gone. There was only a harmless slash of green in the air, ready to be closed permanently.  
  
Evelyn twisted to look over her shoulder and came face to face with Solas. They were both panting, in the same rhythm, their gazes locked, and it felt like they were noticing each other for the first time. It was nothing but adrenaline heightening their awareness, but whatever the reason for it, the intensity of the moment was real.  
  
"Very nice!" came Varric's comment from down below, drawing Solas and Evelyn's attention back to the larger world.  
  
Cassandra punched Varric's shoulder, letting out a disgusted sound, and it was clear that she was not any happier than they were about Varric's interruption.  
  
Which meant, by Evelyn's reckoning, that if it wasn't true before, now everyone in the Inquisition knew about her and Solas.

* * *

When they reached the tipping point into certainty, he did not come to her with florid declarations of love. He took her to her quarters and they talked on the balcony, and it was his respect that he declared instead. It wasn't what she expected, but she could feel it was just as important, and it mattered to her just as much.   
  
He was surprised, he said. Surprised by her. And as he leaned in and his voice lowered, he added, surprised by how much he came to care about her.  
  
Evelyn felt her face heat up, and she looked down into the courtyard. She felt like the callow girl who used to fumble in dark corners of the Circle with other apprentices, and though the things she learned there were long since old news, love was still unfamiliar to her, and a risk she couldn't believe she was allowed to take now.  
  
But there were no templars watching, so when Solas tried to turn away, she caught his arm.  
  
"Don't go," she requested.  
  
"It would be kinder in the long run," he said.  
  
Perhaps it would be. It was that way at the Circle, too, shaky confessions of  _I love you_ , and if you were kind, truly kind, what you said in return was  _don't ever let the Templars hear you say that_. But it was one thing to live in fear when your jailors were around every corner, and quite another now.  
  
"Kinder, maybe," Evelyn said, "but not better."  
  
She could see the tension seep out of his shoulders, something like resignation settling on him instead. Or perhaps it was relief. Whatever held him back, he let go of it between one moment and the next as he turned on his heel and took her into his arms.  
  
He kissed her hungrily, a hand cradling the back of her head, another around her waist, holding her against him. It went on long enough to leave her dizzy and breathing raggedly, but when he leaned her forehead against hers and spoke the words, his voice did not shake.  
  
"I love you," he said, his final confession of the day.


	5. Comfort

For a place which had seen more than its fair share of bloodshed, the Emerald Graves could be eerily comforting, in some ways. People died, but the forest grew, the passage of time enviably on its side. It was a starkly different place now than the last time Solas had seen in, millennia before.  
  
That morning, however, he did not want to think about all he had missed, for all that such thoughts hounded him constantly. Evelyn had woken earlier than him, and the Inquisition scouts having breakfast by the campfire pointed him in her direction, at the edge of camp.  
  
She sat on the edge of a cliff, in the shadow of an archway, staring out over the forest. Wordlessly, he sat down next to her, and for a few minutes they shared nothing but comfortable silence.  
  
"It's such a beautiful place," she said after a while, hushed and regretful.   
  
It  _was_  a beautiful place. Had been. Could have continued to be.  
  
"My people built a life here," he said. "It must have been something to see."  
  
"It probably was," she replied, looking up at the arch with a frown. "I can see why they still carry it with them," she added. He looked at her for clarification. "The Dalish. It's... to them, it's still real, even if they've never seen it. Even if it's gone. It's more real than Elvhenan. It's something tangible."   
  
She grew flustered and snapped her jaw closed, drawing her knees up to her chest.  
  
"Just seems that way to me," she mumbled, embarrassed.  
  
"Perhaps you are right," he said, inclining his head.  
  
The Dalish had built something once, a new home for themselves--only dreams and remnants now, but the soul of the People still called out for a place such as this.  
  
"It seems it was never meant to last, however," he added faintly. If bitterness crept into his voice, it was not about the Dales. Not  _solely_ about the Dales.  
  
"Just because something is temporary doesn't mean it can't remain important even after it's gone," she said. She tilted her head at him. "Don't you think so?"  
  
The expression on Solas's face was unreadable, but a smile edged its way in, hardly touching his eyes.   
  
"Of course," he said, "and I hope you will continue to believe that."  
  
Before she could ask why she wouldn't, he grasped her chin and caught her mouth in a kiss. It was distraction, all of it, even if he didn't know who he was distracting. But it worked.

* * *

He was immersed in a particularly fascinating tome, not so much for the information contained, but for the way the author theorized on the subject matter. It was rare that he came across such clarity of thought and meticulous methodology, especially in this age, and so he barely noticed Evelyn until she was standing next to his chair.  
  
He looked up, about to apologize for his inattention, but she waved him off.  
  
"No, keep reading," she said. "I was hoping not to interrupt you."  
  
"It is merely light reading, nothing important," he said.  
  
"Oh, then can I watch?" she asked, perching herself on the arm of his chair.  
  
"Watch me reading?" he said, and raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Don't judge me for my pastimes," she replied. "I don't have the energy for anything more lively at the moment."  
  
"Very well," he agreed, and returned to his book.  
  
She settled herself on the arm of the chair and draped an arm over his shoulders for balance. It was... not unpleasant. He continued to read for a while, so comfortable with Evelyn's presence at his side that he nearly forgot about her.  
  
When he tried to turn the page, she cleared her throat.  
  
"Wait, I didn't finish," she said.  
  
He turned his head to give her a flat look, and she gave him a sheepish smile in return.  
  
"Well, I didn't," she shrugged.  
  
He sighed and rose from the chair, picking up the book in one hand and catching Evelyn by the arm with the other.  
  
"Where are you going?" she asked.  
  
"We're moving somewhere more suitable."  
  
She didn't understand until he pulled her down on the sofa. Her face brightened, and she kissed his cheek before settling against him. He opened the book before them.  
  
"Now, where were we?"

* * *

Solas could not pinpoint when exactly it began, but sometimes, once evening crept in and the camp started to settle for the night, if the weather was favorable, Evelyn would sit out under the open sky and play with Veilfire.  
  
Her hands alight with the heatless fire, she would roll it, pass it from right to left, light it up in lines up her arms and then reduce it to pinpoints on the tips of her fingers. There seemed no pattern to it other than whim, but Solas watched, admired the soft lines of her face as she took joy from the simple act of magic.  
  
He was loathe to intrude on her in moments such as these, but one evening, he sat down next to her. She faltered for a few seconds, self-conscious, but he kept his eyes on the horizon, where the sun had just dipped behind the hills, and she continued.  
  
Her gestures were less broad with him sitting next to her, as she did not want to intrude in his space, but Veilfire still flicked between her hands playfully.  
  
"I never used Veilfire before the Breach happened," she said.  
  
"With the Veil weakened, producing it has become easier. I believe we're seeing a re-emergence of its use," he replied. He paused only briefly before continuing, "Though it was much more common in past times. For example, exercises such as the one you are engaged in were not unusual. Elvhen children would practice with Veilfire to improve their fine control."  
  
She laughed softly, snuffing a flame in one fist only to make it appear in the other.  
  
"Did they, now?" she asked. "Just like this?"  
  
"Not precisely," he said, taking her hand, "but I could show you."  
  
"Will it help with my fine control?"  
  
"Any use of magic helps you improve," he said, fingers pressed against the pulse point on her wrist, caressing. "Having a routine is simply more efficient."  
  
"Oh, a routine," she said, her face falling. "I'm not sure I'm on the market for one of  _those_  at the moment."  
  
He laughed.  
  
"That is fine," he said. "I won't hold you to it. Only if you wish to learn..."  
  
Before he could retract his hand, she hooked her fingers around his and tugged.  
  
"Yes, show me," she said firmly.  
  
He did. He showed her how to hold the flame, for how long, how to extinguish it and light it up again in the pattern of her breaths. He recalled the simple rhymes by which Elvhen children practiced, and though he didn't tell her the words, he taught her the rhythm.  
  
It was completely dark by the time she mastered the exercises, and they were awash only in the blue light of the Veilfire. Even the Anchor was dormant, casting no light.  
  
He stared at the angles of her face, committing to memory the way she looked, concentrating on and enraptured by the magic she commanded, and the smile she wore, easy and unreserved. Though he could see as well as any elf in the dark, having a light source so bright and so near was blinding him to anything beyond what the Veilfire touched. It seemed that in the darkness, only they existed.  
  
She glanced up at him, and her smile changed just slightly, shifting into something warmer at the sight of him.  
  
"What?" she asked.  
  
"You are beautiful by Veilfire," he replied, because it was true.  
  
She blinked at him, surprised, and then made an embarrassed sound in her throat and bit her lip. He leaned his forehead against hers, overcome by affection, and closed his eyes to savor her presence.   
  
"Solas," she said after a while, quietly though her voice was pitched high with nervousness.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
" _Ar lath ma_."  
  
He opened his eyes. The Veilfire had gone out, and her eyes were open wide, sightless in the darkness.  
  
"Did I say that wrong?" she asked, when for a few moments he did not reply.  
  
"No," he said, his mouth gone dry. "It was perfect."  
  
He pulled her against him, buried his face in her hair. It was a long time before he felt he could let her go.


	6. Acceptance

Her fingers traced over the soft material of his tunic and she sighed, nuzzling his chest. It was a rare moment to themselves, a span of time cleared out just for this, and they laid in her bed together, holding each other. His fingers carded through her hair, slowly, his eyes focused on some point in the distance. There was an aura of delicate sadness about him in moments like this. Since hearing Cole talk about Solas's quiet pain, Evelyn couldn't help noticing it.  
  
"Were you ever with a human? Before, I mean?"  
  
Her question, clumsy in the comfortable silence, brought a gentle smile to his lips before he looked at her.  
  
"No," he replied. "Were you ever with an elf?"  
  
Now she was regretting this line of conversation, and she chuckled nervously.  
  
"Er, a couple," she replied, suddenly sheepish.  
  
"At the Circle?"  
  
She hummed in confirmation. They were both silent for a few moments before she spoke again.  
  
"Is it strange that I miss the Circle tower sometimes?" she asked in hushed tones. She didn't look at his face, only her own fingers picking at the material of his tunic.  
  
"No," he said. "You spent a large part of your life there. It is only natural that you formed an attachment to the place... if not the conditions under which you were kept there."  
  
She sighed inaudibly.  
  
"Something else is bothering you," he said, and it was true.  
  
She considered denying it, at first. She wasn't sure she knew yet how to put it into words. But if she let the subject drop, she didn't know that she would ever have the opportunity to bring it up again.  
  
She sat up and turned around to face him.  
  
"Solas, do you ever worry that we're a cliche?"   
  
His eyebrows rose in surprise.  
  
"I'm sorry?"  
  
"I mean, of all the..." She gestured sharply, in frustration. "All the nobles with elven lovers, at best their affairs are fodder for scandal, and at worst they're tragedies. But it always turns out worse for one of the parties concerned than the other. Don't you worry?"  
  
He chuckled, and lifted his hand to the back of her head, fingers sinking into the hair at her nape. He wanted to draw her back down against his chest but she resisted.  
  
"I'm serious, Solas. Don't you worry?" she repeated, voice low and very serious.  
  
"It matters that  _you_  worry," he replied. "I am hardly without recourse, and I have faced far worse than scandal and lived."  
  
Evelyn looked dubious for a second.  
  
"Tragedy?" she asked.  
  
"That too," he said, voice soft with secrets, and drew her down against him again. She went, and curled at his side, her mind eased, even if just a little.

* * *

As battles went, that one could have panned out a lot worse.   
  
It could have also panned out a lot better, though. They limped back to camp, in one piece but in serious need of mending, and once they arrived there were health potions to consume and poultices to smear over wounds. Both Evelyn and Solas were drained of their last drop of mana, and Evelyn was barely a middling healer to begin with.   
  
A demon nearly wrenched Solas's arm off, and though he managed to heal it part-way with the last dregs of his magic, he looked a lot worse for wear by the time they managed to find camp.  
  
Not that he made a fuss about it. Solas was the kind who preferred to lick his wounds in private. Evelyn had to follow him into their tent and help him undress, and she did so without asking first because she knew he'd insist he could do it when he clearly couldn't.  
  
She bandaged him and gave him potions to drink--elfroot and lyrium, though she warned him not to attempt another healing spell until morning. He acquiesced, amused by her fussing, and attempted to lie down on his bedroll. She didn't miss the grunt of pain he made.  
  
"Careful with that arm," she said.  
  
Folding up her own blanket, she placed it under Solas's injured side, propping up the arm so it sat comfortably, with nothing tugging at the wound. Solas sighed deeply in relief, and quietly thanked her.   
  
Evelyn undressed herself for bed. The sun hadn't set properly over the Western Approach, but she was exhausted, and she suspected that so was he.  
  
"But now you don't have a blanket," Solas said, tilting his head to look at her.  
  
"I'll take yours," she replied. "Fair's fair, after all."  
  
He thought she was joking, as she unfolded his blanket and spread it over him. But she slipped under the blanket with him, molding herself to his side and tucking herself in. This took him by surprise--though she enjoyed sleeping next to him and they'd fallen into the habit of sharing a tent, she made sure to give him his space at night, so she would not disturb his sleep when she moved or shifted.  
  
"I'll go out later and get my own blanket," she said, laying her head against his good shoulder. "Just give me a few minutes first."  
  
Solas rather doubted she'd get around to it. The moment her eyes closed, she was overtaken by exhaustion, and she lay boneless and completely relaxed against him.  
  
She was warm, especially in the coming chill of the night, and as the last orange rays of light crawled across the roof of the tent before being snuffed out, he watched her face. Some people looked younger when they slept; she looked much the same. Perhaps it was because he first met her like this, unconscious and all but dead to the world.  
  
He studied her features as the darkness settled, enjoying the mere experience of having her so close and safe, and he was overcome with love. It was a silly thing, a sentimental indulgence, but he wanted to hold on to it for as long as possible.  
  
"My heart," he whispered to her, "you are the life beating in my chest. I do not know how I would breathe without you."  
  
She smiled and shifted, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He'd assumed she was asleep, and being so tired and frazzled by mana depletion, he hadn't noticed that she was not wandering the Fade yet.  
  
"And you," she murmured in response, her eyes still closed, "are my pleasant dreams. I'd lose myself without you."  
  
Already teetering the line between wakefulness and sleep, in the next few moments she was lost to dreams. He was left awake, heart beating in his chest so loudly he could hear it, and he repeated her words over and over in his mind until sleep took him as well.

* * *

It was easy sometimes to understand the arc of Evelyn's thoughts. Her gaze slid from Blackwall, and then off into the distance, before finally coming to rest on Solas.  
  
She was almost startled to see him looking back, but she smiled to cover it.  
  
"Solas," she said to him later, as she was lacing up her boot by the fire, "you know you can tell me anything. Even if you think it's something I wouldn't want to know, I will always listen to what you have to say."  
  
It seemed almost too obvious, after Thom Rainier's lies were revealed and she allowed him to stay with the Inquisition. She was forgiving, but she was bracing herself for yet more unpleasant revelations. She knew--how could she not?--that Solas had secrets. She'd tiptoed around things he didn't want her to know enough times that she knew what questions not to ask anymore.  
  
Telling her, not telling her... wouldn't it amount to the same in the end?  
  
"My heart," he said, drawing her face towards his with soft fingers against her cheek, "one day you will know more about me than you would ever wish to."  
  
"Well," she smiled, "isn't that the whole point of this?"  
  
She kissed him. She intended only a light peck, but he caught her in a deeper kiss, wanting everything she was still willing to give him. Perhaps that was the difference between telling her and letting her discover. But he was not yet strong enough for either possibility.  
  
"You are right, of course," he whispered against her lips, keeping her close for a few moments longer.   
  
It would not always be like this; it  _could not_  always be like this. But for as long as possible, it was.


End file.
